Artistic Conspiracy
by Falcon's Hyperdrive
Summary: Thrawn was aggravating to the extreme. But, Tanya supposed, in the chaos of old, returning memories, her father's forced absence, and people trying to kill her, her new art teacher was probably the best person to have on her side. Now she just needs to figure out how to get along with him before it's too late.
1. Chapter 1

**...**

**Artistic Conspiracy**

A _Star Wars_ FanFiction

By Falcon's Hyperdrive

Begun 12-09-08

Finished _-_-_

* * *

**-Chapter One-**

The wind was blowing strong, testing the endurance of the trees on the broad, gentle hill, and it threatened to strip the petals from the flowers that had been arranged with care. Sheets of water drenched the earth, cleansing the landspeeder that slowed on its approach to the house at the hill's crest, a beacon of light that could be seen from the city several miles away. The yawning garage door – large and white – opened and closed for the speeder as it admitted its driver to the warmth and shelter that the building provided.

This was the home of the Tangier family, and the only daughter – the only child – was not happy as she came in. Her day had gone awfully, and little at all could cheer her up at this point.

The man in the room next to the entrance hall lifted his head from his studious purview of figures; a door closed, and heavy, shuffling footsteps passed the home office. Hearing a groan, Mr. Tangier stood and poked his head out the door.

"Tanya, are you okay?"

The seventeen-year-old gave a non-committal grunt, and spared her father her wrath by trooping off to her bedroom before any further inquiry could be made. It had been a bad day at the university, where Mr. Wilcox and her fellow students had once again made her life miserable. If it weren't for them, she would have loved her art classes. But these people insisted on listening to bogus rumors and inventing their own. Rumors which were all about her family and aimed at her.

Her door slid closed behind her, cutting off the light from the hallway and leaving her in the darkness of her room. Even though it was still late afternoon – four o' clock, thereabouts – the sun had decided to retire early, it seemed, aided by storm clouds as dark as her mood, pouring down rain that seemed to mimic the tears in her heart. She decided to leave the lights off, knowing her mood would not brighten as the room would. Her emotions didn't change with the flick of a switch, or a spoken command. Rather, right now, she desperately needed to vent on something, to prevent her from venting on someone. A pillow would suffice, she decided, dropping her bag and taking the fluffy object into her bathroom and walk-in-closet combo. As soon as the door slid closed, effectively blocking the noise from reaching the hallway, and her father, she slid to the floor and screamed into the overstuffed blue pillow in her hands. Her frustrations did leave her for the time being with that action, but she knew she had to find some way to get this out of her system by dinner time, or she would be in a bad mood all night. And she was only halfway into the semester, too . . .

She found solace in her studio, a glass-walled room down the hall. Two of its three walls, drywall and painted cream, were hung with paintings by her mother, a semi-famous artist. She was dead now, and had been since she was about four or five. While she had once had nightmares about her death, involving a bald man and a chase through an underground tunnel, she had been assured that they were just that. Nightmares. Her actual death had occurred by the hands of a fast-acting disease.

The third wall held her own paintings, while the fourth wall was some form of glass that could be turned opaque if she didn't want anyone watching her paint. The door was made of the same material, but turned slightly darker as one approached it so that it could be located, or more transparent if the wall was set to opaque. At the moment, they were, as Tanya had no wish to be intruded on as she speed-painted, as she often did when emotional. These were usually composed of dark colors, and occasionally angry, clashing ones. Understandably, no one ever saw these compilations.

Her father found her as she was painting the background of her canvas a stormy gray. He watched her for a moment, and her taut expression. "School again?" he asked, though he didn't really need to. She nodded anyway, brushing on a slightly darker color in brisk, downward strokes. "Mr. Wilcox," she clarified.

"Well, it's the last semester you'll have to deal with him."

That brought her head up, and she turned her somewhat startled gaze to the man who had raised her. "Really?" she prompted, hope in her gaze. Mr. Wilcox, leaving!

"He's retiring," her father confirmed. Tanya looked into her father's hazel eyes, whose color she shared, and smiled brightly. As she thought about that prospect, she added some white to the painting, like a ray of sunshine as a storm dissolves, then brushed gray back over it to make it more natural-looking. "Any word yet on the new teacher?"

"Yes, actually, but I'm not at liberty to say, yet. The details still need to be worked out, but he will be living here for the duration of his stay on Ceurel."

Her paintbrush faltered, the drab green's progress across the canvas coming to a halt. "Here?" she repeated in mild disbelief. She had never liked meeting new people, and was never keen on anyone's staying the night. Trust was something of an issue with her, as she found it hard to do so with some people. Something in her subconscious prevented her from feeling completely safe.

Her father nodded, worriedly. "I'm sorry," he apologized, knowing her issues with the arrangement, "but I've met the man, and he's completely trustworthy. My contacts have also repeatedly assured me of this."

The paintbrush continued its journey. "Are these contacts likewise trustworthy?"

"Of course. I've worked with them for years."

Tanya wasn't exactly sure what her father did for a living, but knew that it was important work, and for the Empire, as they occasionally had special guests over. The Tangier family was the most prominent name on Ceurel, associated with construction work, programming, designing, and more recently, art, as the artist Elizabeth Claudor married Gerald Tangier twenty-two years prior to the present day. Despite only being in her life for about five of her years, Mrs. Tangier had inspired a love of art in her daughter, who aspired to be a great artist like her mother. With her emotions constantly tossed about, however, and a very prejudiced teacher, she had barely a passing grade so far. But now that a teacher from offworld was coming, how would that affect her grades? Would he be more fair? He probably hadn't heard the ridiculous rumors about her family yet, so maybe . . . At least in the beginning, he might be somewhat unbiased.

"So you've met the man?" she asked.

"Yes. Pleasant fellow, always polite, well-mannered. You might like him."

"We'll see," she allowed, adding the finishing touch to her quick collaboration of colors by giving it a streak of red near the bottom of the gray area, signifying a sunset, before brushing the final streaks of gray over it all. "I'll wait to pass judgement until I meet him. When will he be arriving?"

"Sometime next month. Are you heading out again tonight?"

"It is Friday," she confirmed. "Arkir's picking me up at six-fifty." She smiled at the thought, cheering up a bit. Arkir, the one man her age who treated her well. The one man she loved.

"I'll go get dinner ready," her father decided. "Are you feeling better?"

Tanya eyed her painting, concluding that it was an accurate depiction of her emotions. At first she had been dark and stormy, raining on the inside. Then came the break in the clouds at the news of Mr. Wilcox's retirement and a new, offworld teacher. But the sunset came from the sinking feeling she got at the idea of a stranger living in the same home as her.

Or was that a sunrise, signifying a brighter future?

She sighed, deciding she could figure it out later. "Yeah, I am," she assured her father. "I'm going to go pull out my homework, okay?"

"Study hard," was his parting word as he left the room, his hand tossed up in a brief wave. She smiled at his back, love for him filling her as she thought of how he had braved a potentially cranky daughter to cheer her up. "Will do," she answered, and left the painting on the easel to dry.

* * *

...

_Pronunciation key:_

Ceurel - "Sir-**r****el**"

Claudor - "**Claw**-door"

Tangier - "**Taan**-gee-**air**"

Arkir - "**Are**-keer"

* * *

**Edited 10-21-11**


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you for reviewing, **BloodyRoseLove1** and **Kayla Tetavor**!

* * *

**-Chapter Two-**

– _the week before finals –_

" . . . and that is how the lava sculpts of Astra IV came to be. In review, who can tell me the name of the first discoverer of the artistic qualities of Astra IV's lava rock? Geoffrey?"

The blonde city council member's son looked up at the heavyset teacher and his round, balding head. "Kra'tic O'var?" he guessed.

"No, that was the first artist to actually shape the rock. Does anyone else have a clue?"

Seated in the back of the classroom, Tanya kept her usual low profile. She was never asked, and never volunteered information, even though she might otherwise gladly do so. While she somewhat resented the fact that Mr. Wilcox played favorites with the politician's son and his friends, she did always try to not let it get to her. But, based on the growing number of Ventings, as she called her speed painting, she was failing. It had been two weeks since she received word that her teacher was retiring, but the chubby man seemed to have decided that these last few weeks was his last chance to torment Tanya, and looked for any and every excuse to discipline her and lower her already unfairly suffering grades. Would she last the rest of the semester, she wondered? Was art really worth it if this was the treatment she received?

The picture of her mother that hung in the gallery of her home, however, served as her motivation and inspiration. It kept her going, even in the worst of it.

"That is correct, Mr. Gratix," Mr. Wilcox answered another boy, bringing the girl in back out of her thoughts. "Sira'uun Ti'maa discovered that the freshly harvested lava rock is malleable, able to be shaped into sculpts, and hardens within forty-eight hours. All right, then. The bell's about the ring, so homework assignments. Two page report – double-spaced, remember – on Kra'tic O'var, the sculptor. That is due Monday. My drawing students, don't forget your three-dimensional renderings, due next Friday as part of your finals. Class dismissed, I'll see you tomorrow, and I want to talk to you before you go, Ms. Tangier."

Tanya sighed, gathering her books together as she waited for the snickering students to leave the room. When she had her things in her bag and the room was half-empty, she made her way to Mr. Wilcox's desk at the front of the classroom. "Yes, sir?" she prompted.

"Ms. Tangier, it has come to my attention that you cheated on the last test."

Tanya frowned in confusion, at first not recognizing where this was going. "But I didn't cheat," she said, offended. "I never cheat."

"Oh, never?" he scoffed, crossing his arms. "Geoffrey swears he saw you peeking at the answer."

"Well, for your information, Mr. Wilcox, and with all possible but meager respect at the moment, Geoffrey Thompkins is a lying jerk."

"Names," he chastised. "Be respectful, Ms. Tangier."

Tanya scowled. "I'll show respect when it's deserved, Mr. Wilcox," she said, barely keeping herself from snapping the words. "And lately, Geoffrey hasn't been deserving of respect." _Or you, for that matter._

Mr. Wilcox sighed, shaking his head as he changed tactics. "I wonder if your mother was this bad when she went to university."

She froze, her glare burning holes through her teacher. "Leave Mom out of this," she warned, her voice turning dangerous. He didn't take the hint.

"Perhaps she was the one you learned cheating from," he continued, not paying attention to the building rage in the girl in front of him. "Hey, maybe that's why she died. Maybe she was cheating on your father and he came home, found her-" He didn't get to finish the sentence. Her anger let loose, silencing him and every student left in the room.

Only one thought crossed her mind in the aftermath. It wasn't, _What did I just do? He's going to be furious. _No, rather, it was quite the opposite in her outrage.

_Should I have done it harder?_

**...**_  
_

Tanya came home that day in a bad mood, as always. It was her brown pillow, this time, that got screamed into, but it served its purpose well. When she returned at last to her studio, she discovered a note from her father, saying that he had gone out and would be back by five.

_Plenty of time to vent, _she thought, grabbing the nearest cheap canvas. She never used the good stuff for venting. _Maybe I'll actually be in something of a good mood when he gets back._

Five o' clock rolled around with a very colorful and admittedly hideous canvas and a much more relaxed Tanya. She had growled some equally colorful words in the past hour, and she felt a whole lot better. A bell rung at that moment, signaling the opening of the front door. _Dad must be home,_ she mused, getting up to go greet him. She heard her father's voice, then, and slowed her pace. She had almost forgotten that her new teacher would be arriving any day, and that he was staying with them. _That must be him, now._

She took a quick glance in a mirror and decided she and her long, straight brown hair looked presentable, apart from the specks of paint on her hands. This she washed off in her bathroom on the way to meet the recently arrived men.

"She should be home by now," her father was saying as she quietly approached from behind. He stood with a tall man who was dressed entirely in white, save the black military boots on his feet. His hands, encased in white cloth, were clasped behind his back, showing a small patch of pale blue on each wrist where the sleeves and gloves did not overlap. His hair, a bluish-black, ended at the nape of his neck and also failed to hide the blue skin there. As she approached, he seemed to turn slightly, listening to the sound of her footsteps. He waited until she was three meters away, then faced her fully.

Tanya's breath caught in her throat and she froze. His face was somewhat narrow, his expression neutral on what could otherwise be stern, but handsome features. However, that wasn't what made her stop in her tracks. No, it was his glowing red eyes, very suddenly connecting with her own wide ones as she stared in shock.

He seemed to be regarding her intently, studying her. All she wanted was for him to look away. Her father turned, then, his movement startling her and causing her to break eye contact with this potentially dangerous being. She breathed a sigh of relief, collecting herself before meeting the stranger's eyes again, this time with a feeling of distrust. No longer quite so mesmerized, she looked from one to the other expectantly. Her father caught on, and introduced them, as Tanya never liked doing it herself, due to her untrusting nature. Besides, it was proper etiquette. "Ah, Tanya," Mr. Tangier said. "This is Grand Admiral Thrawn, your new art teacher. Admiral, this is my daughter Tanya."

"A pleasure," Thrawn said, bowing his head slightly in greeting. His voice was deep, rich, and cultured, and momentarily gave her the creeps at its cool tone. This feeling was soon gone, however, buried beneath the distrust and, admittedly, curiosity.

"Of the Imperial Navy?" she asked in slight disbelief.

A dark eyebrow rose. "Is there a problem?"

"Not at all. I just wouldn't have expected anyone in the military to get past their prejudices and let what they insist is a 'lesser being' in."

"Apparently my ingenuity impressed them."

"Apparently. And, likewise, is there any problem with my alien nature?"

He smiled, a gesture which almost, but not quite, reached his eyes. "I have never heard a human call themselves an alien."

She shrugged. "I'm hardly from your planet, or your species, so, therefore, I am alien. Simple logic, is all."

"Of course. No, Ms. Tangier, I have been around humans quite long enough to be used to them."

"Oh, good. Oh – Dad, I'm going to be doing homework in my room."

"All right," her father answered, nodding. "Dinner's in an hour."

"I'll be there," she promised, giving them a nonchalant wave as she turned and departed. Only in the safety of her room did she allow herself to truly relax, hugging a pillow to herself as she fought the shivers. She had to be careful with their new guest, she knew. He was no one to be messed with.

_That,_ she decided, stating the obvious in her mind as she heaved a sigh, _was tense._

**...**_  
_

Thrawn watched the girl as she walked away, intrigued at her fast recovery. At first she looked akin to a deer caught in the headlights. Then, after breaking eye contact, her demeanor had turned quite cool.

"I apologize for my daughter's behavior," Gerald Tangier interjected into his thoughts as the young woman disappeared. "She is never trusting of anyone new. Even her boyfriend got the wary eye before she warmed up to him."

"It is not a problem," Thrawn assured his host. "Although as her teacher, and as I'll be staying here for the next few months, I would like to try and gain her trust, if at all possible."

"I don't envy you. Would you like to see the gallery first?"

"Please."

Thrawn allowed himself to be led through a long, twisted hallway to a large room, a gallery which doubled as an art studio. Three walls were cream, with the fourth being some special type of glass. Mr. Tangier explained how the wall worked, then led him inside.

"Those two walls have my wife's paintings," the host told his guest. "The other holds Tanya's better works. Lately, though, she's been-" He cut off at the sight of the easel in the room, and the painting it bore, and shrugged. "She's been doing stuff like that," he finished, pointing to the mass of colors. Thrawn turned, studying it.

"She calls them Ventings," Mr. Tangier continued. "Far as I can tell, she takes the cheapest paint and the cheapest canvas she can find at the art store, and paints according to her mood with those. The better paint and canvas, she saves for her other art."

"These are her emotions?" Thrawn clarified, looking at the Venting with interest. "It appears she had a bad day, then."

Mr. Tangier sighed. "She always does. They aren't always like this, though. Sometimes they're darker colors, and actually depict something. Oh, there's one now."

Thrawn turned his gaze to the indicated painting, which was propped up against the wall in a corner. Her mood, it seemed, had been rather dark when she painted that, as it appeared she had painted a stormy scene. The background was dark, with a dark green hill and even darker gray and some light gray streaked like a heavy rain. There was some white, however, like sun breaking though the clouds. Something had happened which lightened her mood. The streak of red at the top of the green hill, however, wasn't so clear. Either it was a sunrise, indicating a bright future, or a sunset, depicting sinking emotions.

"Did she paint this the day you told her of my coming?"

Mr. Tangier turned to him in surprise. "Why, yes, actually. At least, I'm fairly sure. How did you know?"

"A guess," he answered, turning his eyes back to the painting on the easel. It and the others could wait, however. He had several months to study them all.

Mr. Tangier motioned to the door. "Would you like a tour of the house, now?"

"Thank you," he replied, nodding. He didn't even look back as they left the room. _Oh, yes,_ he decided. _Plenty of time._

* * *

**Edited 10-21-11**_  
_


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you, **BloodyRoseLove1**! *huggles*

* * *

**-Chapter Three-**

" . . . and there's an art museum on the other side of the planet. During the break, you could go see it, perhaps. Unless you need to get ready for classes."

"I think I could manage to fit in both," Thrawn answered, neatly cutting into his roast nerf. "Thank you for the recommendation, Mr. Tangier. Perhaps I'll get a hotel room and stay there for a week or two so that I may study the paintings in depth."

"You really like your art, don't you?" Tanya said, curious. "I mean, you spent the last, what, half hour in the gallery, staring at one painting?"

"One can learn a lot from art," Thrawn explained. "The state of one's mind, what they like, how they think, what they feel. I believe that if you understand a species' art, then you understand the species."

"Not completely, you can't," she said with a frown. "You can learn all you think there is to know about a person, and then they go and do the complete opposite of what you expect. Everyone always has at least two choices, and they can choose either one at any time, regardless of whether anyone thinks it's in their character or not."

"That is true," he agreed, "but many cling to their pattern of life, and that of their people. So as a whole, my belief is accurate. A being cannot go beyond the limitations of its species."

"I suppose we could debate the topic all night and get nowhere. Unfortunately, I've had enough stress for one day, and would rather not further expound upon the subject. Trying to sort out the nuances would give me a headache I would rather not have."

"Well, then. If you'd rather have another topic, what are your classes like?"

"I like all of them, except for my art classes. While I would otherwise like them, Mr. Wilcox makes it very unenjoyable. That's where I get the worst of the comments."

"Have you ever tried to defend yourself?"

"Once. I got detention for it."

Her father frowned. "I don't remember that."

She inspected the rolls, looking for a nice, large one as she avoided his gaze. "You wouldn't."

"When was this?"

"Recently."

Mr. Tangier's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Exactly how recent?"

She gave a sheepish smile. "Today."

He blinked. "Today," he repeated.

"And you wonder why my Venting was so horribly clashing?"

He sighed, shaking his head as it sunk in. "What happened, exactly? Just so I know what the truth is when the school calls."

"Mr. Wilcox accused me of cheating – total fabrication, by the way – and then insulted you and Mom." She told them what her teacher had said, then shrugged. "He didn't get to finish, because I lost control at that moment."

"What did you do?" Thrawn prompted. She glanced at him, her lips pressed tightly together.

"I slapped him."

Her dad blinked. "What was that?"

"You heard correctly. I slapped him. Hard as I could. Anyway, after he recovered from the shock, he got all angry and gave me detention on Saturday."

"You slapped him."

"Yes, that is what I said. Rather extreme for me, but the line was big and fat, and he crossed it deliberately. The anger was built up over the weeks, so I lost control, and I slapped him. And please don't talk about respect. I lost all respect for him long ago."

"I have something I would like to know the answer to," Thrawn interrupted. At her slight nod, he continued. "Are you really the problem child the school paints you to be?"

"Paint," she muttered. "Wonderful metaphor; so appropriate. Is this why you're staying here? After all, there are other, more politically important households in the city. The Senator's for instance."

"I am staying here because I know your father, he offered me a place to stay, I have no need for further political connections, and I looked forward to learning more about your mother, a rather skilled artist. Yes, the school did tell me you were said to be ill-disciplined, but I have already come to the conclusion that this is mostly untrue. It had nothing to do with my staying here."

She stood. "We don't talk about Mom that much, so good luck on trying to learn much about her from us. But then, the paintings are really all you need to look at, aren't they? Just look at a picture and see the little hidden traits that tell you what their thinking process is. But that doesn't tell everything about a person. Her willingness to sacrifice things for her family may not be covered in her paintings, you know."

Neither noticed the slight twitch Mr. Tangier gave at that sentence. Instead, they were more focused on the cool atmosphere that had suddenly taken over as she glared at the Admiral. Then, blinking away tears, Tanya left the room, leaving Thrawn to sit and think in silence. "That went well," he muttered. Recovered, Mr. Tangier shook his head. "Give her time. I'm sure you'll both learn to live with each other. As break rolls around, maybe she'll be less stressed, not having to deal with that teacher of hers."

Thrawn sighed. "I think I'll go to the university tomorrow and meet this Mr. Wilcox, and find out the _true_ story of 'Ms. Tangier and the University of Ceurel.' That way we will all discover what goes on there, and I shall determine how I need to deal with each student."

"Do you need an airspeeder?"

"Please. I do not think your daughter would appreciate it if I went to school with her."

His host seemed to consider that for a moment, then he shook his head. "No, probably not. I'll get you the codes for our extra speeder after dinner. In the meantime, maybe I should warn you about her pet peeves . . ."

**...**

School began the next day with a fizzle, followed by some smoldering, and seemed ready to go bang by day's end. It didn't really help that her least favorite teacher was the last one, as the pressure and heat built up throughout the day. For some, it might make a diamond, maybe, but Tanya was close to cracking by then. As for Thrawn, he had sat through each art class and art history class taught by Mr. Wilcox, and the teacher seemed to treat the students well so far. As the last class of the day began to trickle in, he noticed particularly that the one Tanya had mentioned – Geoffrey Thompkins – was treated especially well. While some might call him a teacher's pet, Thrawn rather suspected that Mr. Wilcox, instead, was a politician's pet. And like all the ones before them, these students each gave him a curious glance as they entered. After all, they had never seen a blue-skinned, red-eyed person before, and they had no idea why he was sitting in their classroom. As he was wearing a white dress shirt and a black suit, no one recognized him to be military, and so a few glances was all they gave. His young hostess entered early on in the flow, keeping her head down in an effort to avoid attention. After a surprised look at his presence, she decided to ignore him, and took out her history book to do some last-minute studying. They were taking a test that day, the last one before finals, and she was determined to get a good enough grade so that she could pass.

As the late bell rang, the last two stragglers hurried in and took their seats. Satisfied that everyone was present and on time, Mr. Wilcox stood up behind his desk and faced his students. "Welcome to Art History, sophomore year. As you all know, this is the last test before finals, and then come the finals themselves, and winter break." A small cheer broke out among the students, and Thrawn could see Tanya smiling as she put her book away, out of reach. Apparently, she was going to as many lengths as possible to avoid being accused for cheating. She seemed a much different person here than at her home, where she was a rather outspoken individual. Here, she was quiet and subdued.

Mr. Wilcox smiled at his students – or most of them – and chose not to chastise them for their outburst. "And as you might also know by now, I am retiring at the end of the semester. Next Friday is my last day with you all as teacher."

Tanya was struggling to hide her joy at the statement, but only Thrawn saw this. Geoffrey Thompkins, he also saw, looked a bit upset. No doubt he would miss his pet.

"As such, may I introduce to you your new teacher, Admiral Thrawn, who has taken the opportunity to teach the art class and art history class for the second semester."

Thrawn stood, holding in a sigh. In each class, he had never failed to have to remind Mr. Wilcox that he was a Grand Admiral, though the address did not much matter to him. As he prepared to remind the teacher yet again, his ears caught a snicker, hastily disguised as a cough. This, unlike Tanya's joy, did not escape Mr. Wilcox's attention, and he focused his sharp gaze on the silent girl, who was trying her best to hide an amused smile.

"Something funny, Ms. Tangier?" Mr. Wilcox asked, his voice cooling ten degrees. Thrawn quickly recognized his distaste for the girl, and decided to listen for a moment before intervening.

"It's nothing, sir," the girl said, meeting her teacher's gaze.

"Oh, really. Is it that you don't believe he's an Admiral?"

Tanya uncovered her smile. "Yes, that's exactly it."

"Ms. Tangier-"

"I do, believe, however," she interrupted, "that he's a Grand Admiral, in point of fact."

Mr. Wilcox blinked a few times, amusing Thrawn as he looked something like a fish out of water. "Oh. Yes. I forgot that little detail."

"Hardly little," the girl corrected with a shrug. "Grand Admirals, I'm told, have a great deal more responsibility than Admirals. It comes with being third- or fourth-in-command of the Empire."

"Our standing depends on the situation," Thrawn clarified for her. "If it's military, then we Grand Admirals are third-in-command. If it's political, then that's where the Grand Moffs come in."

Some of the students were practically bug-eyed. None of them could ever have imagined having such a powerful being in their classroom, and here he was, being presented as their new teacher.

One girl tentatively raised her hand. Satisfied that the still stunned Mr. Wilcox wasn't about to kill his hostess, he gave the girl permission to continue.

"If you have such a high position, sir, why are you here?" the student asked. "I mean, compared to the position of an Admiral even, an art teacher isn't all that glorified."

"A good question, Miss . . ."

"Tari Weaver," she supplied.

"Ms. Weaver," he continued. "If I had not become a part of the military, I very likely might have become an art critic on my homeworld. As for why I was able to take this position, the Emperor decided I needed a break from the stress of my station. Whether that's true or not, I'll leave it to others to decide. When I heard of the availability of this position, I decided it was too good an opportunity to pass up. It is only for a semester, but this serves the dual purpose of filling the position while the school searches for someone more permanent and allowing me to do something art related on my leave."

Geoffrey raised his hand. As soon as he was allowed, he spoke up. "What's your grading system going to be like?"

"That will be announced the first class of the new semester. But before you can attempt to persuade me to favor you, Mr. Thompkins, I should let you know, political connections will have nothing to do with it. Now, I believe Mr. Wilcox has a test for you all. Mr. Wilcox, if you please."

"Yes, thank you, sir. All right, class. You have one hour. Closed book, no notes, no peeking at your peers' tests. You will begin only when I say, and not a moment before. Is this understood?"

The students chorused their assent, leaving the teacher to pass out the tests. When he was done, he took his place at his desk and surveyed the room. "Begin," he instructed, and sat down.

Thrawn watched as the students picked up their writing utensils and bent their heads over their pads. Tanya's expression was that of intense concentration as she focused her attention solely on the test. He could immediately see that this was going to be his most problematic group, as some, including Geoffrey, didn't pay too close attention to their answers. Unfortunately, despite being one of the bright bulbs in the box, Tanya's poor grade seemed to indicate the same behavior. Either she was just putting on a show for him, or there was something more going on here.

"Pens down," Mr. Wilcox finally ordered, standing. Everyone obeyed, a few grimacing at their incomplete tests. Their teacher ignored their expressions as he collected the pads, but he stopped at Tanya as he picked up her pad. Jotting something down, he gave her a pointed look. "I have chosen not to take this matter to my superiors, so I have an addition to you detention. Minus fifteen points for back-talking and slapping me, Ms. Tangier."

"Yes, sir," she answered in monotone, staring straight ahead. Her wince was minute and barely noticeable, but Thrawn caught it just the same. He knew she had seen this coming, but the loss of points still hurt, especially with her grade. Even if she got every question right, she would just barely get a passing grade. Of course, the finals would tell the story, but even so, she was hurting.

Mr. Wilcox gave her nary a glance after that, much to her apparent relief. She seemed more relaxed now that the test was over and done with. When he was finished, Mr. Wilcox returned to the front of the room and surveyed his class. "Remember your reports on Kra'tic O'var, due Monday. Two pages, double-spaced. Drawing students, don't forget that your three-dimensional renderings are due next Friday. It _does_ count toward your finals, keep in mind. All of you, dismissed."

Thrawn watched as the students put their things away and left the room. Some moved leisurely, in no hurry to go anywhere even though school was over for the week. Some, like Tanya, moved quickly, having no desire to stick around any longer than necessary. When the last student had left the room, he joined Mr. Wilcox at his desk. "Is misbehavior the reason behind Ms. Tangier's poor grades?"

The teacher glanced up at him, nodding briefly. "She might not give you as much trouble as she's given me, but yes. Also, there seems to be some lack of intelligence mixed in there."

"Lack of intelligence, or lack of knowledge? She seemed quite intelligent to me, and knowledgeable, when she politely corrected you on my rank."

"Politely?"

"She was hardly being rude. Now, sir, there is a question I would like answered. Why does everyone exhibit such obvious hatred toward the Tangier family?"

Mr. Wilcox waited a moment before looking up at him again. "Do you really want to know?"

"I wouldn't ask if I didn't."

The university professor put the pad in his hand on the desk and sighed before indicating a chair. "Have a seat. We are, I believe, going to be here for a while."

* * *

**Edited 10-21-11  
**


	4. Chapter 4

**-Chapter Four-**

"Now, then. We're settled, and no one else is present. You were about to explain to me the irrational behavior toward such an upstanding family?"

"I wouldn't choose the words irrational and upstanding, sir," objected the teacher. "But then, that's just me, and many others on this planet.

"It started twelve years ago, when Tanya Tangier was almost five. Elizabeth Claudor Tangier, a fine artist to be sure, met her untimely death. We don't know how or why; only that it happened. Thing is, her sister was visiting, and it was the first time Gerald Tangier went offworld. A week later, the woman was dead. There have been all kinds of stories. Some say it was disease, as claimed by the family. Tericitis or tetricitis, or whatever. Others say she fell and hurt herself in an accident. Some say she committed suicide. Still others say she was murdered, either by her husband who might have caught her cheating on him, or by someone else for some other reason. Maybe it was her sister, Emila Claudor, or someone else entirely. No one knows, except for the family, and they're not saying anything."

"I would think that this would be cause for sympathy, rather than hatred." The Grand Admiral gave Mr. Wilcox a pointed look. "I need not ask you if you agree with that sentiment. Quite plainly, we all know where you stand."

"And I make no apology for it. Gerald Tangier, also, has done next to nothing to discourage the rumors. He's too busy with his family business. His daughter is too much of an upstart to credibly discourage the rumors, and she was only four at the time. She would know nothing about it."

"Then why take it out on her? All that you've told me so far is no reason to behave such a way toward that family."

Mr. Wilcox stared at him for a minute, then looked away, sighing. "I just go with the flow. I show hatred because everyone else does. The Thompkins family, and the other politically aligned families on Ceurel, hate the Tangier family out of jealousy. They're not even political, and they've made something of themselves. And, I suppose, we all show hatred because . . . well, if someone did murder Mrs. Tangier, we don't want to give the murderer a reason to go after us. Distance yourself from trouble, and you avoid it."

"Occasionally," Thrawn agreed. "Then again, sometimes trouble comes even if you put a galaxy between you and it. Hating Ms. Tangier, or even acting like you hate her, solves nothing. If anything, you've made things worse." He stood, turning away from the desk and the teacher. "And with that thought, I'll leave you now. Goodbye, Mr. Wilcox."

He left the room, leaving behind a suddenly breathless man. Mr. Wilcox stared after him, long after his footsteps faded from earshot.

**...**

"Tericitis. Are you aware of what that is, Mr. Tangier?"

"Yes. It is where the heart is overworked. It's easily cured, but left unchecked, can kill its victim, but only over a long period of time from when the disease is contracted and when the heart gives its final beat."

"And tetricitis?"

Mr. Tangier sighed, pushing his datapad away. "I see where this is going. Please, Admiral, do not bring up something so painful."

Thrawn frowned in thought and persisted. "You say your wife died from it. So, to convince me, please describe the disease to me."

"Fine." Gerald Tangier looked up at the ceiling, sighing again. "The organs fail, and the brain slowly shuts down. It is hard to cure, and kills quickly. Anything else?"

"Did your wife really die from it?"

"Yes! Now, please, it is a very painful subject. Are you quite finished with this line of inquiry?"

Thrawn remained unfazed by his host's outburst. In fact, he seemed to have come to a realization. "I can see where your daughter's temper comes from. Push you to a certain point, and you have to release the stress."

"The same can be said for anyone, but yes. My wife is a sensitive subject for Tanya and I. So much so, we hardly talk about her. I should warn you against pushing your luck with Tanya's temper. When unleashed, it can be very volatile."

"As evidenced last night at the dinner table. And . . . where is she now?"

"Her boyfriend picked her up half an hour ago. They have jobs at a restaurant in the city."

"That's twice you've mentioned this elusive male, but you've never revealed his name."

"Arkir Varith. Good boy, from an upstanding and proper family. He's had to rescue Tanya from the local governor twice, but he does it politely, without causing an uproar. Who knows, maybe you'll meet him tonight."

"What are their jobs?" the Admiral pursued, curious. Instead of answering, Mr. Tangier just smiled.

"No, I'm not telling you. I've already told you plenty. If you want to know more – with exceptions from time to time – you will have to ask her. And now, I'll retire to my office. Feel free to return to the gallery and atelier or anywhere else in the house. If you need me again, you know where to find me."

With a resigned sigh, Thrawn did as suggested. He was trying too hard, he knew. Any attempt at inquiry would have to be taken slowly, carefully. And for all he knew, the death of Elizabeth Claudor Tangier could be irrelevant to his purpose here.

_Play your part, Grand Admiral. The other contestants will join in soon enough._

That in mind, he returned to the gallery and continued his ruthless study of a deceased artist's paintings.

**...**

"I think your violin's a tad flat, there. Try tightening the strings a bit more."

"Thanks, Arkir. Boy, it feels great to be among people who don't care who I am and who my family is. Mr. Wilcox wasn't so bad today, though. He just took fifteen points off my test. But that was expected; I did slap him, after all. And . . . he didn't have me formally disciplined."

Arkir, the handsome young man who was proud to call himself Tanya's boyfriend, shook his head, the brown hair crowning his scalp moving with the action. "Part of me is surprised you did that, part of me is not – he was asking for it, after all – and part of me is proud that you finally showed you wouldn't take anymore of that."

"It was a spur-of-the-moment sort of thing. I doubt I could do it again unless similarly provoked. With Mr. Wilcox retiring, there will be less of that, I hope. Then again, Geoffrey is enough by himself. The Grand Admiral has already made it clear that he's not about to be swayed by political connections, but I think the idiot politician's son already has his sights set on his next target. If he tries a bribe, I wonder what he'll do when he's told that extortion is illegal."

"Run home to daddy and try to get the law changed," Arkir quipped. "That guy annoys me so much, sometimes I want to strangle him half to death."

"Only half?"

He laughed, giving her a playful nudge. "At least you only have him in three classes – both art classes and history. I have him in five."

"He's not out to get you all the time."

"True. We could argue semantics all day and get nowhere, sometimes. Even so, he's a royal pain in the butt. Hey, speaking of teachers, what's the new one like? I heard he was in the classes today, checking things out."

Tanya grimaced as she tested the chords on her violin again. "Please don't remind me. How's that sound now?"

"Better," he decided, checking the monitor. "It even says you're on-key. So what is it about this Grand Admiral that's got you down?"

"The fact that I have to live with him every day, and he's sticking his nose in family matters. Can't he see that we don't _want_ to talk about how Mom died?"

"Woah, back up. He's staying at your house?"

"That's right. He was still at the university when you picked me up. I don't think I'll see much of him over break, as he's planning on visiting the art museum on the other side of the planet, but that's only cause for praise in my book. When school starts up again, though, there'll be no avoiding him. I can only hope he keeps his questions about Mom to a minimum."

"Why's he asking about her?"

"Because she was an artist, and she's the main target of all the rumors and insults. Because there're so many stories about how she died, ranging from disease, to accident, to suicide, to murder. Because he smells that something is off, and he doesn't realize it's the cheese going bad in the refrigeration unit."

"You're starting to rant, you know. How's this sound?" He played a few notes on his own instrument, and Tanya nodded as she kept an eye on the monitor. "Sounds and looks great. That is, if you're aiming for C, D, F, A, and C."

"I am," he assured her. "Ready to go out there, yet, or do you need to rant some more? I'm sure Izzy could stall a bit for us. He does play guitar, after all."

Tanya smiled at that. Their employer and friend, Izzy Montage, was willing to go to great lengths for them, be it ad-libbing as they rushed to fix some small piece of equipment, a week off – which was really only a day – if school was particularly hard, or even playing his guitar if they needed extra time to get ready. He was the reason she and Arkir were together, as they wouldn't have even noticed or spoken to each other if Izzy hadn't hired Tanya to be a musician at the Blue Moon, restaurant and dance hall – ballroom dancing, that is. It was not to be confused with a club.

As it was, their relationship remained completely secret from their fellow students at the University of Ceurel, if for no other reason than that they weren't ready for the publicity. Arkir didn't think he would have minded much, but he was fully willing to wait until Tanya was ready.

"I think I'm ready to go out there, actually. We can talk more about this later if you want, but there's not much more to it, yet. But you know, it was only a day before I snapped at him. But enough of that; Izzy's waiting, as is our audience. Ready to go dazzle them?"

"Aren't I always, Love? But why don't you just walk onto the stage? That itself will do the trick."

Tanya poked him in the ribs, laughing. "You tease. Thank you for the compliment, but I think they're here for the Blue Moon Rising's playing and singing, not me."

"Okay, you win. Together, then?"

Tanya nodded and smiled. "Together."

* * *

...

_Pronunciation key:_

Ceurel - "Sir-**r****el**"

Claudor - "**Claw**-door"

Tangier - "**Taan**-gee-**air**"

Arkir - "**Are**-keer"

Montage - "Mon-**tahjj**"

* * *

**Edited 10-21-11**


	5. Chapter 5

Thank you, **serenity8118** and **PollyWantCookie**! It means a lot to have reviews. **:-)** In any case, here's a new chapter, and chapter 6 is well on its way!

* * *

**-Chapter Five-**

"It was a good night, I think," Arkir mused aloud as he carefully placed his violin in its case. He grinned up at his girlfriend, then, and her radiant smile. "Mostly, I deduce this from the expression on your face."

"I still can hardly believe Izzy let us take a break to dance." She gave a little twirl where she stood in place, bouncing happily at the same time. "I think that was my favorite part."

"You always did love the waltz. Hey, want to do another one? We could ask Sandra to play the piano, and Blaine to play the flute for us."

"The girls already went home, unfortunately. What about Troy, and his mad trumpet skills?"

"He was their ride, so he's gone, too. I know!" Arkir held up a finger, grinning. "We could ask Jet to tap out a tune on the drums."

"Or ask his father to play the guitar for us," Tanya countered, laughing. "Drums and slow dances don't sound like the best mix in the galaxy."

"Or . . ."

Tanya cocked her head, a smile on her lips. "I'm listening," she prompted.

Arkir stepped closer and twisted a lock of her long brown hair around a finger. "No one ever said we had to have instrumental music. One of us could sing . . ."

"Or both."

"Or both," he agreed. He wrapped his arms around her, leading her into a slow waltz. "First, though, I want to sing you something."

"Okay," she consented, unable to do much else as she leaned in close. A wave of safety and comfort washed over her, warming her from head to toe. "Listening," she murmured.

Arkir smiled. "_Sweeter than honey, softer than a rose. You are the one my heart long ago chose._"

Tanya closed her eyes, breathing deeply in full contentment as she moved her feet in the steps of the waltz. His voice formed the melody to which they danced, shaping words in her ears and soothing her mind.

"_Here in my arms, dance now with me. To say-_"

"Hey, guys! What are you two still doing here?"

Arkir's voice cut off, and Tanya opened her eyes, looking over at the door in shock. "Jet?" she said, stupefied. The young black man froze, like a deer caught in the headlights. "Oops . . ." he murmured, backing up. "Erm . . . sorry about ruining your little romantic moment, there."

Arkir began to chuckle, although there was a look of strong disappointment in his eyes. "Relax, Jet, we're not going to kill you."

"We may skin you alive," Tanya agreed, stepping away from her boyfriend and grabbing his hand, giving it a squeeze, "but we won't kill you."

"That's no comfort," he answered dryly. "Anyway, Dad wanted to see you two if you were still around."

"Looks like the revenge is postponed," the girl teased. "So where is that father of yours?"

"Backstage. Restaurant's closed, so he's putting the dust cover over the piano. Uh . . . is there any way I can make it up to you?"

"You can freak out for a couple weeks," Arkir decided. "You going home now?"

"Yeah, Dad and I drove separately. See you at school?"

"Usual practice time, barring emergencies and allowing for sneaking around to avoid discovery. Can't have it be known that we're all musicians, right? At least, not before we have that concert that Izzy's planning."

"I wonder what people will say to that," Tanya said. "Especially with me there. Oh, well. For all I know, the situation could change completely by then. Hey, should that be our coming out, too?"

"Whenever you feel like, Love."

Tanya smiled, reassured. A moment later, she heard a strange noise, only to find Jet mock-gagging. "Oh, you are so dead."

Jet yelped. "Uh-oh . . . Um, see you Monday! Bye!"

The door closed behind his hasty retreat, and only then did the two allow themselves to dissolve into laughter.

"C- come on," Tanya urged finally, not fully recovered yet as she clutched her cramped side. She was still fighting giggles. "Let's see what Izzy wanted."

They found him exactly where Jet said he would be, but he was now stowing drumsticks in a drawer. "Hey, kids," he greeted them, grinning cheerily. He was, Tanya observed yet again, practically the opposite of what one would expect from an upscale restaurant and dance hall owner. He wore a tie, black, but it hung loose around the collar of a camouflage shirt, the sleeves of which were rolled up to just below the elbows. A light brown compartmented belt was buckled around his waist, more for looks than for any real helpful purpose. His pants, too, were camouflage, tucked into the tops of tall, light brown military boots. To complete the rough-and-tumble image, he wore an eyepatch over his prosthetic right eye, which he took off when the situation called for it. The eyepatch, that is, not the eye. His left eye was brown, only a shade darker than his skin. His hands were clad in black fingerless gloves, and on his brown face there perched a mustache and goatee, both as black as the short, curly hair on his head. His son inherited the skin coloration and hair of his father and late mother, but had the vivid green eyes of his mom. Their personalities were much the same, as well, as both were quite the tease.

"Hi, Izzy," Tanya greeted him, grinning back. "What's up?"

"Well, you know how you have hardly any homework during break?"

"Oh, do we," Arkir sighed. "The prospect is very appealing. What of it?"

"I was wondering if I could prevail upon you to play on Tuesdays, as well. I'd pay you what I do on Fridays, and it would only last through the week before school starts again. The rest of Blue Moon Rising has already agreed, and it's just the two leads that I'm waiting on."

Tanya looked at Arkir and received a nod, then smiled at Izzy. "We're game. See you next week, Izzy."

"Don't be a stranger!"

"Hard to be." Tanya stuck her tongue out at him as she turned to go. "You've got our paychecks."

"Ah!" Izzy placed a hand over his heart. "Thou wit hast pierced mine heart."

Arkir laughed. "Goodnight, Izzy. We'll be seeing you."

"Good luck on those finals! Force be with you."

"Back at you. Goodnight."

**...**

"It's chilly out here."

"Want to borrow my coat? It's quite a bit warmer than your own."

"Thank you, Arkir, but I'll be fine. It won't be long until we're in the speeder, anyway."

"Well, then, if you're sure."

Tanya blinked her hazel orbs at him, dumbfounded at his next action. "What _are_ you doing?"

"Taking my coat off for you to borrow?" He grinned innocently, making her sigh, fighting a smile. "I told you, I'll be fine. I don't want you freezing to death."

"Are you sure you don't need it?"

"Yes, Arkir, I'm sure. Absolutely certain, in fact. You've done so much for me already." She smiled gratefully at him, then turned away, aiming her path toward their closed-roof landspeeder. The next few moments were like a blur to her, as she dimly heard her name being shouted, followed immediately by an arm wrapping itself about her waist. Her boyfriend pulled her toward him, just in time to get her out of the way of a reckless driver. As the taillights of the airspeeder faded into the distance, the couple let themselves breathe again.

"That was close," Tanya gasped, her mind momentarily numb from shock. Arkir held her tightly, nodding. "Too close," he agreed, just as breathlessly. "You're certainly the magnet for trouble. That was what, the fourth time in a year?"

Tanya let her mind be anchored back to reality, returning the embrace as tightly as she dared without hurting him. Whether or not she might admit it to anyone – and Arkir was one of the few to which she would readily do so – the near hit-and-run had terrified her. "He didn't even stop," she murmured. Smartly, Arkir led her to the landspeeder and helped her inside, then moved around to the other side and got in. "One of these days he'll hit a pole, and then he'll stop and look," he assured her. "Or he may not have to look anywhere, as it'll probably be wedged quite tightly in the front portion of his airspeeder."

"Or rammed up his rear," she muttered darkly, rather uncharacteristically. Despite her fiery temper, she was never vengeful. It was a good thing, she decided, as her mother, father, and boyfriend wouldn't have liked it if she was. Besides, Troy and Jet caused plenty of trouble among the male students at the university in secret retaliation for the behavior toward Tanya. Blaine and Sandra, the other two female members of Blue Moon Rising, did the same to the female students. Sometimes, she decided, she just wanted to hug them when they made their mischief, but no one at school knew they were friends yet. The coming concert that Izzy was setting up would be a real shocker for the community, as a group they had never seen hang out together before turned out to be talented musicians who had been friends for upwards of two years.

"Are you going to be okay?" Arkir asked, brushing some hair from in front of her face. She nodded, collecting herself. "Let's not tell Dad or the Grand Admiral," she requested. "Dad worries enough about me as it is, and my new art teacher certainly doesn't need to know much more about my life."

He frowned at that a bit, but nodded. "All right," he consented. "For now."

Tanya gave him a shaky smile, but it became more stable with each passing moment as she recovered. "You're the best, Arkir."

"I know, Love," he said with a laugh, turning to face forward. "I know."

**...**

"Well, here we are, my lady. And, oh, shoot, the meter wasn't running. No idea how many kilometers I drove, so I guess we'll just have to settle for a kiss instead of credits, now, huh?"

"Oh, you." Tanya laughed at her boyfriend, poking him in the ribs. She was fully recovered from the close call at the Blue Moon, and back to her usual self. "I'd give you a kiss any day, you know. Would you like to come inside? The blue guy with the red eyes might want to meet you."

"You'd better not let him hear you call him that. I don't want you to have to be subject to a glare of death."

She tried and failed to hold in a snicker. "'Glare of death'? Oh, you'd _definitely_ better not let him hear _that_. I haven't been subject to one of those yet, but if I continue with my snappiness around him, I just might. He's a got a cold temper, and I mean _really _cold. He doesn't seem like he could be phased by much of anything. If he ever gets mad at me – which I hope not – I think I'm going to be scared to death." She shuddered slightly, but still held a small smile. "I _really_ hope he doesn't ever get mad at me."

"I hope he doesn't, either. I would hate to have to seriously hurt your art teacher."

"Yes, let's not ruin your chances for school. Never mind the fact that you might get arrested for assault. My money's for my education, not your bail bonds."

Arkir laughed as he stepped from the vehicle, moving around the landspeeder to open the door for his girlfriend. "And mine's being saved up for a rope to choke Geoffrey with."

"But you can get something like that anywhere."

Arkir helped her out, shaking his head. "You, my dear, are funny."

"Yes, sarcasm's great, don't you think? Oh, there's Dad. He must have seen us driving up. Are you coming in?"

"As long as he doesn't have a blaster rifle waiting behind the door for me."

"Oh, stop it. He likes you."

"Then why does he look strained?"

"We've got the Grand Admiral staying with us, remember? He must have tried to ask about Mom again or something. We Tangiers have short fuses, after all."

"Did anyone warn the Grand Admiral about that?" Arkir asked as he walked her to the door. She smiled back at him.

"I kind of demonstrated it last night, though not so much. I told him about slapping Mr. Wilcox, though, and he didn't seem too judgmental. However, that might be because I declared quite plainly my opinion of the action, and made no room for argument."

"Makes me more curious what he'll think of me. Hi, Mr. Tangier. Is this a bad time?"

Tanya's father smiled, relaxing. "Not at all, my boy. Did you have a good time?"

"Oh, yes, quite. Izzy let us dance a round."

"Good, good. Please, come in."

"Oh, Dad." Tanya smiled up at him, just then remembering to tell him about Izzy's offer. "We're going to be working on Tuesdays, too, during break. Just thought you might like to know."

"Thank you for telling me. Will you two come into the fireplace room? The Grand Admiral wished to meet you, Arkir."

"Thought as much. I can't stay long, though, unfortunately. My father's expecting me for a late dinner."

"And how is the old rascal? He's going on sixty, right?"

"Fifty-nine, actually. His birthday's in a couple months. Still as spry as ever, though."

"I imagine so. Let's go, then. No sense in keeping anyone waiting."

Tanya and Arkir followed her father into the cozy room with the stone fireplace, where Thrawn sat. Upon their entrance, the Grand Admiral stood from where he had been sitting on one of the well-cushioned armchairs. "You must be Arkir Varith. Mr. Tangier spoke highly of you."

At five-foot-eleven, Arkir stood two inches taller than Thrawn, but in no way did Tanya feel like it detracted from the bearing of authority this man held. Arkir didn't let this bother him in the least, however, as he returned Thrawn's nod of greeting. "I should thank him, then, and be grateful you didn't talk to the governor first. He doesn't have that good an opinion of me."

"Only because he doesn't know when to stop trying to flirt with me," Tanya cut in, grinning. "To be honest, a guy that old, hitting on someone as young as me, it's kinda gross. But Arkir never breaches protocol, or uses poor manners, so the governor can't really complain. So, introductions. Arkir, Grand Admiral Thrawn, Mr. Wilcox's replacement. Grand Admiral, my boyfriend, Arkir Varith."

"Pleasure to meet you, Admiral." Arkir held out his hand and grinned. "Welcome to Ceurel, and I hope Tanya doesn't drive you nuts. Ouch!" He rubbed the spot where Tanya's fist had connected. "I was kidding!"

Thrawn smiled in amusement and shook the still-proffered hand. "And it is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Varith. I understand you will be one of the drawing students this semester."

"Just that one class, but yes. Word is, there's even going to be a contest in a month or two, but the topic is still undecided."

"Yes, I've heard."

"Listen, Admiral . . ." Arkir scratched the top of his head, growing slightly nervous. "No one at the school knows about Tanya and I, because we're not ready to draw more attention to ourselves. So we'd appreciate it if you kept our relationship under wraps for now."

He considered that for a moment, and then he nodded. "Very well. You have my word."

Tanya felt immense relief at these words, and relaxed slightly. Beside her, Arkir smiled. "Thank you, sir. Now, I'd best be going. See you Monday, Tanya. Bye, Mr. Tangier. Bye, Admiral."

Tanya gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "Say hello to your father for me, and thanks for coming in."

Arkir returned the gesture. "No problem, love. See you."

Tanya walked him to the door and waved farewell as he drove away. She stood there for a bit, smiling. Her evening had been very enjoyable, despite the near miss in the parking lot of the Blue Moon.

That was one thing that puzzled her, however briefly. Why was she such a magnet for trouble? That had, in fact, been the _fifth_ such near miss in a year, and the gap between the occurrences grew smaller each time. Izzy had told her that there was no such thing as coincidence, but the gaps were still too large for her to begin thinking seriously about them.

She sighed, and moved inside. With finals just three days away, she didn't have time to think about or worry about such things. Her only hope was that Thrawn realized this, and stayed well away with the questions . . .

* * *

**Edited 10-21-11  
**


	6. Chapter 6

Sorry for taking so long, but here is the next chapter, at last! And rest assured, I have a brief outline sketched out, so I know exactly where this story's going. **;-)**

Thank you for your review, **PollyWantCookie**. It is encouraging that someone will take the time to make even such brief comments. And thank you for adding this to your story alert list!

* * *

**-Chapter Six-**

Finals came and went. There was a farewell dinner for Mr. Wilcox, but Tanya didn't attend. Then came Winter Break, and Thrawn disappeared for the three weeks before the second semester. Tanya spent those weeks relaxing, playing and singing at the Blue Moon with Arkir, and going on a few dates with him. She felt much less stressed than she had for a long time, and actually painted a couple pictures. The first was a landscape, of the rolling hills to the west of the city with the sun setting in a red blaze beyond them. The second was of a thunderstorm in the distance, complete with the towering clouds and the jagged, white lightning. These, when dry, were framed and hung on her wall in the gallery, and her Ventings were stored in portfolios and placed with other works of hers.

Finally, the day arrived when Thrawn returned to the Tangier home. She didn't encounter him much, and when she did, he didn't ask her anything other than if her break had gone well, and if she felt better now that she had been able to relax. She answered yes to both, simply, still not trusting him enough to open up with him. And then, two days later, school began again.

Classes went well. She stayed in the background, away from the center of attention, and the bullies chose not to immediately resume their torment of her. She shared secretive greetings with her boyfriend and her other friends from Blue Moon Rising, and had to wonder what new pranks Jet and Troy had thought up. Then, at last, came her first class with Thrawn.

The schedule said "art analysis," and that was what was on the board when she entered the room and checked the seating chart. She was in the middle of the room, closer to the front than she had been last semester: three rows back, six from the left, and four from the right. Thrawn wasn't present yet, and only a few of her classmates were there.

Finally, as the clock ticked closer to the scheduled start of the class, he came in and sat behind his desk, ignoring his students for the most part as he focused on something in front of him. Five minutes till, he stood up and went to the board.

Tanya watched as he erased "art analysis," and replaced it with words in a neat script, printed yet still very nice. "History Through Art," it read, and following a colon, "Learning to Analyze."

Her eyebrows went up at that, deciding that this bent of the subject was more like the Grand Admiral, and one he could potentially teach better than simple art analysis – although that would have been fine for him. He certainly was a master analyst; she wasn't averse to admitting that.

The last student came in and sat down, just in time for the late bell to ring. Satisfied that everyone was in attendance, Thrawn began the class.

"Welcome," he said to them all. "As I'm sure most of you know, I am Grand Admiral Thrawn, and I will be teaching this class and the drawing and rendering class this semester, as Mr. Wilcox retired at the end of the last. This is the one and only semester that I will be teaching, so I suggest that you remain on your best behavior if you wish to leave me with a good impression at the end of the school year.

"I will do my best to give you all fair grades, based on your performance, and affected by your behavior. There will be no cheating, no abuse of any form toward your classmates, and you will remain respectful to everyone here, whether it be me, or the person you least like. You are your own person inside this room. Political or familial connections will have no standing here. If you are a friend of the senator or governor, I do not care. If you are the child of the principal or one of the teachers, I also do not care. Your grades will be based solely on your work as a student, and your behavior. Do _not_ have your parents come here complaining of a poor grade. If you have a problem, see me in person. One day you will find that your parents can do nothing more for you, and you must take responsibility for yourself. If nowhere else, you may learn a bit of that here. Any questions?"

Tanya hid a smile at the worried frown on Geoffrey's face. No doubt the news that his father couldn't do anything for him here was a bit troubling, but she knew that if he held off on his bullying and put his mind to it then he could be one of the top students in the class. He truly was a bright one, but only his political and familial connections kept him in the top when his laziness resulted in late papers.

Turned out, there were no questions, as Thrawn had anticipated the few that there might have been. So he continued, beginning his explanation of the topics he would be covering.

"You might have noticed the difference between your class schedule and what I've written here. I have permission from the powers that be to change things somewhat. Each day, you will be presented with one or more pieces of art, and you will learn how to detect patterns, differences, and other details. I do not expect any of you to excel at this, as it is a difficult thing to learn. From time to time, I will display a series of artworks, and you will be asked to determine what the prevailing theme is, as well as other factors, perhaps, such as the type of planet they are set on. Is this clear enough?"

Tanya nodded with the rest of the class, and hoped that he would remind them of his expectations when the time came. In the meantime, Thrawn picked a random student. "Mr. Puttman. What is your favorite painting?"

Isaac Puttman blinked. "_Twilight Storm_, by Fardrique Blakeney."

"An excellent choice," Thrawn complimented, typing something into his datapad and bringing up the named piece of art. "We will begin with this. As you can see, the work is aptly named, depicting a large thunderstorm typical of the artist's home planet, with the final vestiges of sunset still in the sky. Now, how does one know that this is a sunset, and not sunrise?"

Tari Weaver raised her hand. When she was given the okay, she answered, "Because the Yellow Cardinals, which bloom in the afternoon, don't close until an hour after sunset, and you can see that they're still open in the painting."

"Excellent. And how do we know what planet this is? And no, the answer is not, 'because you told us.'"

Isaac raised his hand. Thrawn called upon him, and he said, "Because Yellow Cardinals can only grow on that one planet. People have tried to transplant them before, but something in the atmosphere combined with that particular sun and soil give the energy the flower receives unique properties."

"Very good. You've done your research. Now, that wasn't so hard, was it?"

Tanya studied the painting, giving a minute shake of her head. Then something – or rather, the lack of something – caught her eye, and she dared to raise her own hand.

A blue-black eyebrow rose in mild surprise. "Yes, Ms. Tangier?"

Tanya took a deep breath. "The painting isn't signed, as is always done by the artist in question. How are we sure that Fardrique Blakeney painted this? After all, there were other artists from that world, and some visiting artist might have also decided to paint this scene. And Blakeney struck me as more of a crowd painter, instead of scenery."

A smile spread across the Grand Admiral's face, as if she had just told him that he could ask her whatever questions he wanted and she would answer. "Ah, that is a very good point, Ms. Tangier. You are absolutely correct. The fact is, class, that this is _not_ a painting by Fardrique Blakeney, and instead one done by Kristov Black. He is a lesser-known artist, also from that world, and never got the credit he deserved. This is his only widely known piece, and even then people attribute it to Blakeney, who hasn't ever discouraged the idea. You can tell it's by Black by several key details, as well as his unique signature of a black avian, hidden somewhere in the bottom right-hand corner of each of his works. Here, in this piece, you can see its silhouette in the bent stalks of grass and Yellow Cardinals."

Isaac looked taken aback at this announcement, and Tanya was rather surprised. She was right? She was actually right?

Suddenly, the coming school year didn't look quite so bad after all.

Thrawn gave her a pleased smile, and she returned it tentatively. One thing was for certain, she knew. She was going to be looking forward to her art classes from now on.

**...**

That afternoon, after returning home from school, Tanya went straight to the gallery and atelier. She didn't know why, but she was curious about her mother's signature, which she had never really payed attention to before. She had noticed before that there didn't seem to be any; however, now with the idea of other types of signatures in mind, she decided that she could be wrong, and that she had missed something.

Careful study of several paintings revealed the signature: a small claw and a door, hidden in the bottom right-hand corner. Having found it, she grinned, pleased that she would now be able to identify any of her mother's paintings by that.

A knock on the glass doorframe beckoned for her attention, and when she gave it, she saw her father standing there, smiling. "Due to the lack of a Venting, I take it school went well today."

"Yeah. We learned a bit about analyzing art today from Grand Admiral Thrawn, and found out a painting wasn't actually by the credited artist. No one talked to me except the Admiral, and I saw Arkir and the others, so yeah, all in all it was a very good day." She gestured to the painting, returning to the reason she had come here. "Did you know that Mom's signature was a claw and a door?"

"A rebus. Very clever." Her father smiled whimsically as he thought back. "I believe I noticed her adding those items to a painting of a field of flowers once. When I asked her about it, she told me that it was so someone could identify that art as hers. She didn't like the idea of adding her name to the work, because that would make its origin too obvious, and she preferred to remain in the background most often."

"Yeah, that sounds like what I remember of her. Do you know if many people know that signature belongs to her?"

"No. As you know, she wasn't too well known. I don't think many of her pieces made it into galleries or museums, and most of her work remained in the family."

"How big is the family? I don't think I've ever asked that, actually."

"Well, there's your Aunt Emila, and I don't really remember who else. I haven't spoken with her in years, and all your grandparents are dead. I think you had an uncle once upon a time, but he's most likely dead. He's only ever been mentioned, and then only once. You have some second cousins and the like somewhere, but I confess I haven't really made it a goal to keep in touch with them."

"That's okay, Dad. You, Arkir, and my other friends are all I need, anyway. Though I _would_ like to get in touch with Aunt Emila again."

He smiled. "Maybe someday, hon'." He walked over and planted a kiss on her forehead. "Well, I have to get back to work. Remember, if you go out, bring your stun pistol."

"Yeah, yeah." Tanya grinned. "I'm probably going to stay in today, anyway. Go on; you could get a call anytime."

"Right, then. See you at dinner."

Tanya nodded. "Yeah . . ." She turned back to her mother's paintings, feeling again that sensation of discovery, knowing that a whole new aspect of her mother would be revealed to her in the coming weeks as she learned more about analysis. Let the Grand Admiral study the paintings. She wouldn't talk about Elizabeth Claudor Tangier, but she would do some studying of her own.

And she wasn't going to tell him anything.

* * *

...

_Pronunciation key:_

Ceurel – "Sir-**rel**"

Claudor – "**Claw**-door"

Tangier – "**Tahn**-gee-**air**"

Arkir – "**Are**-keer"

Montage – "Mon-**tahjj**"

Fardrique – "Far-**dreek**"

Blakeney – "**Blake**-nee"

* * *

**Edited 10-21-11  
**


	7. Chapter 7

Thank you for reviewing, **PollyWantCookie**, **LadyRavena**, and **Aryna**!

Sorry, everyone, for taking so long. But here's your update!

**PollyWantCookie**- The only one I can think of that you might be thinking of is _Killik Twilight_, the painting in the book _Tatooine Ghost_.

**Aryna**- Nope! I'm still plugging away at this! XD

* * *

**-Chapter Seven-**

"Hurry up, Tangier, you're blocking the doorway."

Tanya sent a half-surprised glance Geoffrey's way, moving quickly out of his path. "Sorry. Little preoccupied there for a moment, and didn't realize I had stopped."

He grunted in disbelief, then swept on past the girl, followed by his friends. They went up to the teacher's desk, where Thrawn sat, got their seating assignments, then went to sit down. She waited until they were gone before she followed suit, giving the new instructor only a brief acknowledging look.

He was even more outgoing than she, and favored her with a minute smile before turning back to his work. "Good afternoon, Ms. Tangier. You've been avoiding me."

"Well, duh," she answered in a murmur, rolling her eyes as she searched for her name on the list. "Can you think of a reason?"

"I frightened you away with my questions, quite clearly. As you have noticed, perhaps, I have made no further attempt as of yet."

"'As of yet,'" she shot back, still refusing to look at him. "Therein lies the reason, _Grand _Admiral. You're so stinking hard to predict, I can't tell when you're going to corner me for an interrogation session."

"Hmm." He appeared unfazed. "Still, three days in the same house is-"

"Quite easy. I know the password to the atelier. You don't. Also, my room and outdoors are quite pleasant in the evenings, and it's easy to double back or go on ahead to a safe haven until you're past. The hallway is in a loop, after all."

His lips pressed together very slightly, quirking upwards for a moment. "I do not blame you for avoiding me. Even at dinner you are uncharacteristically quiet. However, two days is pushing it, but it has been three since Monday. Are we to only speak in class?"

She located her name, found her seat assignment, then pinned him with a glare and a look bordering on smug. "Yes."

"Eventually we will have to speak with one another," he warned her. "And by the way, your father called several minutes ago. He wishes to speak with you as soon as you get back."

Tanya frowned, perturbed. "All right. Thanks for the message, I guess. Do I have permission to sit down, now?"

He gave her an amused smile. "You do. Second row, fourth seat from the left and fifth from the right."

She scowled. "You could have told me that before I spent all that time looking."

"Knowledge gained is oftentimes more valuable and easier remembered when you search for it yourself."

She sighed, forcing herself to not shake her head at him as she went to her seat. He was exasperating at times like these, especially when he was like that. _Smug know-it-all,_ she grumbled inwardly.

Her mind went back to what she had been thinking about before she came in. A look into her family tree revealed that the uncle her father had mentioned was seemingly inexistent. There was no mention of him to be found anywhere, and she couldn't help but wonder why that was. She trusted her father in that she had one, but the lack of records on him disturbed her.

The late bell rang, once again on the heels of a nearly tardy student. Thrawn waited until the boy went to the only empty seat, then began.

"Welcome to Drawing and Rendering Two. As I'm sure all of you know by now, I am Grand Admiral Thrawn. This is the only semester I will be teaching here, so I request, and possibly warn you, that you remain on your best behavior. To repeat what I told my other classes today and on Monday, your grade will depend on your performance and behavior. There will be no cheating, you will treat everyone with respect, and in accompaniment to the previous rule, there will be no abuse of any kind toward your fellow students. Political or familial connections have no place here, and I do not care if you are the relative or friend of a senator, governor, colonel, teacher, or principal. If you have a complaint, come to me yourself, and do not look to your parents for aid. It is not their work and behavior that will be in question. Am I understood?"

They all nodded, and he went on, detailing a brief lesson plan. Ten minutes later, they were hard at work, trying their hands at the technique he showed them on a digital rendering system.

Tanya frowned as, in his wandering through the classroom, observing their progress, he came to her desk. He stood there a moment, eyeing her style. "You're not half bad at this medium," he finally said in praise. She raised her eyebrows, but said nothing. True, she mostly did oil paintings, and digital rendering was her worst field, but she hadn't expected a compliment.

She studied the orb she was making, wondering where to go from here. He was allowing them to make it whatever they wished, but three-dimensional renderings were hard.

Eventually, she settled on giving it a misty, swirled appearance, a beautiful set of rings, and a raging hurricane. Near the end, she thought to add a haze around the planet, as if the orb's gravity was just weak enough to allow some of the noxious gas to escape. Finally done, she sat back and regarded it rather proudly. It was her best work yet in digital rendering, and she decided it probably had something to do with having a teacher that wasn't prejudiced against her.

Two minutes later, Thrawn announced that time was up. "Leave your rendering on your desk when you leave. For homework next week, I would like to see what you can do with multiple orbs. Now, you'll get the grades for these next week. Dismissed."

The bell rang immediately after he said it, and, unlike all the other classes, there was no rush to grab their things and get out the door. Instead, with Thrawn silently watching, they began making a semi-neat and orderly exodus.

Tanya snorted quietly, amused. _They're really taking his introduction warning to make a good impression to heart._

She, for her part, hardly slowed down her departure at all, and was the first person out the door, leaving no opportunity for Thrawn to catch her.

Her name was called soon after by a female voice, but she just grimaced and kept on going. Persistently, the trio of girls caught up and grouped around her. "Hey, Tanya," the one girl said again, and Tanya humored her with a glance.

"What do you want, Brittany?"

"Just to know how class went. I heard from Geoffrey that Admiral Thrawn is a good teacher, though incomparable with Mr. Wilcox."

"That's _Grand_ Admiral Thrawn, Brittany." She smirked. "And yes, he is incomparable. Thrawn's much better."

Brittany let the first part slide and gave her a weird look. "No title?"

Tanya kept her face impassive. "Why bother? People do that all the time. The full title is a hassle to say all the time. Ah, what am I saying? Call him Admiral. See if I care."

"What- Ooh, hi, Arkir!"

The two cronies also waved shyly, and Tanya turned her head to see her secret boyfriend passing by. He smiled at them, meeting Tanya's gaze briefly, and nodded his greeting. "Goodbye, ladies."

The cronies burst into giggles as he left, and Brittany was grinning. Suddenly, she turned to Tanya. "You like him!" she hissed.

Tanya imagined she looked quite startled, because that was how she felt. "Huh?" she asked stupidly.

"You're blushing! This is priceless . . . Little TeeTee likes Arkir Varith!"

Tanya bristled, wondering when university got to be so high school and how Brittany thought she had the right to call her by that nickname. "So what?" she snapped. "And need I remind you again to never call me that? 'TeeTee' was the nickname of a friend. _You_ are not, not anymore."

"So~," Brittany elaborated, ignoring her rant, "since you like him, I have to warn you away. Remember, Tee, you and him just wouldn't work out. He's awesome, and, well, you're you. A loser, if you want me to put it nicely."

Tanya held herself in check and glared at the raven-haired girl. "If you say that, then you needn't worry, right? Bug off, Carol, and go give yourself a swirly or something."

Her audacity seemed to stun them, and Tanya took the chance to escape. "Bye, now!" she called back, and disappeared down the hall before they knew it.

**...**

When Tanya stormed inside half an hour later, Mr. Tangier knew something had happened. He knew that look well, and knew to step aside to let her pass before following her to the atelier. "Tanya?" he ventured, watching as she dug through her supplies for a cheap canvas and the paint. "What happened this time?"

"Brittany Carol happened," came her short reply.

"Isn't she the girl that you used to be good friends with?"

Tanya scowled. "Don't remind me."

"Hate to break it to you, honey, but you're doing quite a good job at that yourself. What happened?"

"Do you _really_ want to know?"

"I wouldn't ask if I didn't, hon'."

"Fine. For one, she had the nerve to call me by that old nickname she had for me when we were friends. Second, she blatantly warned me away from Arkir today. She said I'm worse than a loser, and it wouldn't work between us, and . . . and . . ."

Mr. Tangier took her by the shoulders and waited until she met his gaze. "Honey," he began quietly, "the very fact that she warned you away means she feels threatened by you, because she knows how much not a loser you are. You're smart, Tanya, and a good woman. And you're just as brave and strong as your mother was, and an excellent painter to boot. Don't worry about what that girl thinks, or the fact that she calls you by a nickname she doesn't deserve to use. It's not your fault she's not your friend anymore; it's hers. She let her parents' thinking affect her thinking, and she got all twisted around. I know for a _fact_ that Sandra Wayne's parents don't like either of us, and yet look at her. She's your friend, and even secretly gets back at the school for everyone's treatment of you.

"Tanya, sometimes you just have to hold your head up high, like you've been doing. And I'm proud of you for that. You've lasted through more than a decade of such treatment, and yet you've only physically retaliated once. I would probably have cracked long ago, but you . . . You're strong. I wish your mother could have been here to see how you've grown."

Tanya smiled, the warm reassurances calming her. "Thanks, Dad. Hey, Thrawn said you wanted to talk to me?"

Mr. Tangier shook his head. "I do, and it could wait a little longer. But . . . I think it would be best if I told you now."

His daughter began to look concerned. "What is it, Dad?"

"I'm . . . going away for a while."

Tanya reeled back in shock. "What? Where? When?"

"Offworld. A few of my company's space stations are having problems, so I have to go out there and help them with them. As for when, in three days. I'll be gone for a few months."

"Three days? When did you find out you had to go?"

"This morning, while you were in school." Mr. Tangier looked downcast, worry in his eyes. "Tanya . . . It's going to be okay. Grand Admiral Thrawn is here. I've asked him to keep you safe."

"I don't want him, I want you!"

"Honey, I _have to go_. I don't have a choice in this matter. I may be able to come home early, but I'll still be gone for more than two months."

Tanya tried to hold back the tears; she really did. Eventually, however, she couldn't do it anymore, and made for the door. "I need to think."

Her father sighed. "All right. You know where to find me. And Tanya, we will be able to remain in contact, at least a little, while I'm gone. Though I doubt that will be much comfort to you."

She valiantly offered him a smiled before she left. "Not really. But it was a good effort. I'll see you at dinner."

**...**

"How did she take it?"

Mr. Tangier sighed heavily. "Not well."

"Any idea why?"

"You've got to understand, Admiral . . . The last time I went on a business trip, my wife died. Not only that, but it was offworld, too. She's afraid something will happen to someone else she loves. It is understandable, and natural. Please, whatever you do, don't antagonize her."

Thrawn frowned. "Does she have reason to fear this?"

"She was five. Her mother died. Admiral, sometimes it's best to just leave things alone."

"Who's to decide when that is, then?"

"Thrawn. It was a tragic event for both of us. It helps nothing when you persist in interrogating us about it."

Thrawn narrowed his eyes. After a moment, he spoke again, contemplatively. "You blame yourself."

Gerald jerked in surprise, then sighed, in that moment looking years older. "If I had been there, I could have saved her. If I had only _known_ . . ."

"You did not, and there's nothing you could have done."

"You don't know that."

"Then let me rephrase that. There's nothing you can do about it, except be strong for your daughter. Tell me what happened."

For a moment, the father looked as if he was actually going to go in depth. Then, wearily, he shook his head. "Elizabeth died from tetricitis. That's it."

"That most certainly is not," came the stern reply.

Mr. Tangier scowled. "Fine, then. In her final hours, as her brain was shutting down, she had hallucinations. Tanya, at that young age, picked up on those and began having nightmares. She still gets them sometimes. Are you finished, _sir_?"

Thrawn's expression softened. "I apologize. I did not mean to cross the line. I will leave you alone now."

"Thrawn," the other interrupted, causing the Grand Admiral to pause. "Promise me . . . _Please_ promise me . . . you won't hound Tanya with questions like this while I'm gone."

He closed his eyes, his posture regretful, as was his voice. "I am sorry, Mr. Tangier. But I cannot."

Aggravated, Gerald stood. "And why not?"

"If I am to protect her, Mr. Tangier, I need to know what I have to protect her from." Thrawn turned, and ruby eyes bored into hazel. "The truth will come out eventually, Gerald. It is the only way you can move on."

**...**

Dinner was a tense affair. Somehow, Tanya had found out without either of them telling her that Thrawn had been prying into their private matters again, and she still wasn't talking to him. Finally, though, the Grand Admiral put down his fork and faced her. "We have to communicate sometime, Ms. Tangier."

Tanya scowled. "No, we don't. Look," she continued shortly, keeping him from speaking. "I didn't even really want you here in the first place, okay? I _don't trust you_. You're my art teacher, nothing more. You can ask me all the questions you like about my mother, but I won't answer them, and you'll only make me resent you. Leave well enough alone, Thrawn, and stop making a bad day even worse."

After a long, silent moment, Thrawn bowed his head. "I apologize. Thank you both for the meal. I will take my leave, now."

Parent and child watched silently as he left. When he was gone, Mr. Tangier turned to his daughter. "I don't really blame you for that."

Surprised, Tanya faced him. "Huh?"

"For telling him off," he clarified. "However, he's right. You do need to communicate, especially since he's going to be taking care of you."

Tanya looked amused. "Dad, I can take care of myself."

"Yes, but . . ."

She frowned as he trailed off, at a loss for words. "Is there something you need to tell me?"

His sad smile surprised her as he stood and walked around the table, pulling her into a hug. "Just be careful, please."

Confused, Tanya nodded against his shoulder. "I will. I promise."

"Good." Pulling away, he kissed her forehead. "Keep your head up, Tanya. Remember, after sunset comes sunrise, and a new day. Sometimes things get worse before they get better."

"Dad, what are you talking about?"

He shook his head. "Just remember that. In time, you'll understand. Come on." He smiled down at her, his eyes shining. "Let's finish our meal."

* * *

**Edited 10-22-11  
**


	8. Chapter 8

Forgot I had this one ready . . . Enjoy!

* * *

**-Chapter Eight-**

Friday. Tanya coped by simply not thinking of her father's coming trip, and buried herself in the music. Arkir and her friends comforted her when she told them about it, and she felt better that night.

Saturday. She went full-blown at her homework, thinking only of that and not the thing that was stressing her out. That evening, she again ignored Thrawn and just spent time with her father.

Sunday. The first half of this day was spent with her father, just hanging out, talking, and playing games. She took him to the spaceport that afternoon, and it was a quiet drive back home that evening. She avoided Thrawn as much as she could yet again, eating her meal in her room.

Then came Monday, and she was back at school. She found herself actually looking forward to the classes each day, as she kept herself segregated from Thrawn while at home the whole week. She spoke to him only when necessary, and he didn't push her, probably knowing how stressed she was with her father's absence. She had yet to have a nightmare, and he was doubtless not eager to incite one with questions. She began to notice an agitation, however, when they were both at her home, and in the same room. He was eager to say something, anything, but she kept him at bay with thick tension and a wary look. Friday came again, and she was gently chastised by her friends when she admitted her behavior around her temporary guardian. Saturday, she did him the courtesy of asking if she could spend the night at Blaine's house. She could have sworn she saw relief when he gave permission, but she didn't dwell on it. Monday returned to nip at her heels, and she went to school cheerfully, confusing several with her good mood.

And then came her class with Thrawn.

She took her seat as was normal, steadfastly ignoring the others' banter. Being well-practiced at this, it wasn't hard. Thrawn entered shortly after, a datapad holding his attention. The chatter immediately took a quieter volume, but he remained half ignoring them for the next five minutes, until the late bell rang. Looking up, he took note of the room void of empty seats, and nodded in satisfaction. He was dressed yet again in his sharp black suit and tie, the white dress shirt set in sharp contrast.

"Welcome back," he greeted them, setting aside the pad as he stood. "We will be having a test next week, so pay close attention. Today, we will be looking at a painting of one of your own."

A whispering murmur broke out, quelled by the teacher's sharp glance. Tanya, on her part, remained silent, but leaned forward in anticipation. When a courtroom scene was brought up on the display, she frowned slightly. Something about this was familiar . . .

"_Samuel's Trial_," Thrawn informed the class. "Not a well known piece at all, and the artist is just as obscure. Can anyone locate and identify the signature?"

Somehow, she had an idea as to where to look. And so, Tanya zoomed in on her personal view screen, an increasingly bad feeling settling in her gut as she searched the bottom right hand corner. And there, sure enough, was a small, almost minuscule, claw and door.

She fought back the shock as much as she could, but her hand bumped a writing utensil as it jerked back, sending it rolling sedately until it left the desk and struck the floor, clattering quite suddenly in the silence.

Every eye turned to her pale face as she stared at the signature she knew by now very well. "My _mother_?" she asked, the tone of her voice betraying how stunned she was.

That set everyone off. Chatter broke out, quelled by a sharp look from their teacher. "Well done, Ms. Tangier," he praised her, gently. "Yes, this was done by Elizabeth Claudor, not yet Tangier at this time. Ignore the fact that this was done by a woman of controversy unrelated to the art scene, class. Tell me what you can figure out on your own."

_Ignore it? How? _Tanya wondered. At first she thought he was taking revenge against her for avoiding him all this time, but as she stared at him, standing calmly at the front of the room, she realized the truth. There was nothing personal in this at all. He simply admired the art of her mother, and had decided they could learn something from one of her pieces.

_Snap out of it, Tanya, and do as the man says,_ she ordered herself at last, turning once more to the painting. She looked long and hard at it, the nagging feeling in the back of her mind growing stronger with each passing moment.

One of the others spoke, startling her out of her concentration. "Admiral, is that Mrs. Tangier in the stands, there?"

Tanya blinked, and looked. _Ah, so it is. Wait . . . Does that mean . . .?_

"Why, yes it is, Ms. Weaver," Thrawn answered. "What can one deduce from this?"

"That it really happened," someone else supplied.

"Correct. Any guesses who 'Samuel' is?"

"My mother's brother," Tanya replied, in a slight daze. She recognized the bone structure of the face, though his was more sharply defined. The eyes were a harder, sharper version of her own, though a slightly darker blue than her mother's, as opposed to her father's and her hazel. The nose, however, was unmistakable.

"Thank you, Ms. Tangier." Thrawn gestured to the holo of the painting, and of her uncle. "You are looking, class, at one of the few pieces of evidence that Samuel Claudor ever existed. Convicted as a thief and a murderer, he was disowned shortly after the trial depicted, and erased from all records of the family."

Tanya stared again at the piece of art, things suddenly making sense. So that was why she couldn't find anything on her elusive uncle. Idly, she wondered what he would look like with hair.

_Hair?_

The nagging feeling came full force, and she finally remembered. When she did, her stomach lurched. When she nearly gagged, Thrawn's attention was called to her.

"Are you all right, Ms. Tangier?"

She shook her head, sick to her stomach. "I don't feel so good."

He nodded in understanding, gesturing to the door. "Go to the nurse's office. Would you like someone to go with you, to make sure you get there?"

Tanya shook her head, quickly gathering her things. "I'll be fine. Thank you, sir."

She offered him as much of a smile as she could conjure as she met his concerned gaze, then made a beeline out the door. She had to stop at the bathroom to make an offering to the porcelain throne at one point, but that was the only detour she took before making it to the nurse's office.

The nurse greeted her kindly, one of the few here to not hate her in any way. She was told to lie down, and to try and get some sleep if she could.

Tanya resolutely stayed awake, despite this. The last thing she wanted, she knew, were the dreams that were sure to come.

**...**

An hour later, after much boredom, Tanya heard new footsteps enter the room, and turned to see Thrawn come in. "How are you feeling?" he asked, concern a subtle undercurrent in his voice.

Tanya paused at that, puzzled. Why was he so worried about her? Shouldn't he hate her, after what she said to him a little over a week ago, and after she had avoided him?

"Better," she finally answered. "I think it was just too much all at once."

His brow furrowed. "What happened, Ms. Tangier? You were shocked, yes, at the painting, but what set you off? Was it something to do with your uncle?"

Tanya twitched. "How do you figure that?"

Thrawn drew up a chair, settling himself into it before he answered. "It was only after he was discussed that your stomach decided it didn't like its contents."

The girl shook her head, sitting up and drawing her legs to her chest, hugging them to herself. "I've seen that picture before," she explained, knowing it was better to get it out. "Mom showed it to me, a little while before she died. I think I had asked why I never met him. She explained that he had been sent to prison, because he had killed people. I guess, after her death, that bled over."

"Into what?"

She swallowed hard, not at all eager to say it, but knowing she had to.

"My nightmares."

* * *

**Edited 10-22-11  
**


	9. Chapter 9

Thanks so much for reading, those of you who are! I've had this done for a little bit, but I never got around to reading it through again to make sure it was ready for posting. So, here it is! We finally meet Blue Moon Rising, and the stage is set for something dramatic in the next chapter. XD Sorry for taking so long to update!

**Anakin Starkiller-** In regards to why he's working as an art teacher, it's both because it's something he enjoys and because he has a more specific purpose there that has been hinted at once but hasn't been revealed yet. As for his uniform, he isn't wearing it. I need to actually say what he's wearing sometimes, but I did say once that he was wearing a white dress shirt and a black suit. That was back in chapter four, I think, when Mr. Wilcox was still teaching and Thrawn was doing a little advance recon. A.k.a., seeing what the students are like and what the deal was between Tanya and Mr. Wilcox. It was then that the reason behind the prejudice toward her was revealed. But since your review was for chapter two, Thrawn would have just been wearing his uniform at the moment. This is because he had only just arrived, and had not yet changed into civilian clothes. So, in case you've read this far, I hope you enjoy the rest! XD If you have any more questions, feel free to ask.

**ALL-** There has been some inconsistency in the story as to when Elizabeth Claudor Tangier died. Was it when Tanya was four or five? In actuality, both. I will make sure to include it in the story later, but in case you noticed the discrepancy and wondered, here's the deal: Technically, rounding up, Tanya was five. More specifically, however, it was anywhere from just before her birthday to two weeks before. Now then, since that's taken care of . . . On to the story! _(_**10-22-11 edit: **_I believe I cleared this up in the encounter between Mr. Wilcox and Thrawn, now. I'll leave this up just in case.)_

* * *

**-Chapter Nine-**

"Tanya? Hey, girl, you in here?"

Tanya raised her head from her knees, looking up from where she sat against the wall. "Hey, Blaine. I'm over here."

Blaine closed the door to the music practice room, making it dim again. Tanya had the lights set on low when she had entered, wanting nothing more than to hide for a short while. "Arkir said you were in the nurse's office yesterday. You okay?"

"Yeah. I just . . . got a big shock, is all. Remembered my nightmare, too."

"So that's why you're moping?"

Tanya scowled at her friend. "I am not moping."

Although concerned for her, Blaine grinned. "You so are. Come on, gal. Head up high. It's just a nightmare, right?"

Tanya shook her head violently, chasing away the monsters in her mind. "You're right. Where are the others?"

"Jet's grabbing Troy, and Sandra will be a couple more minutes. Arkir's on his way."

Satisfied, Tanya rose, moving to her violin case. As she did, she could feel Blaine's eyes on her, and turned back to smirk at the flautist. "Question?"

Blaine laughed. "You know me too well, girl. So how'd the Admiral respond to your telling him you've seen your disowned uncle in your nightmares?"

"Rather well, actually. Looks like I've given him something to think about, though."

Her friend gave her a calculating look. "And have you spoken to him at all since then?"

Tanya shook her head. "No, not really."

Blaine heaved a sigh. "Girl, what are we to do with you?"

A new voice interrupted. "Dunno, but hugs sound good."

Both girls turned to the door, where Arkir stood framed. His lips were settled into an amused grin, making him look quite mischievous. True to his words, his first destination after he closed the door was Tanya, whom he enfolded in his arms. "Feeling better today?"

Tanya sighed, smiling. "Rather. Hey, I hear Troy was planning something big. Any idea what?"

"Something about mayonnaise. Other than that, no clue."

"I hope he doesn't get caught this time."

"What are you talking about, princess? I never get caught!"

The three faced the door, where Troy stood with his hands on his hips in a classic hero pose. Jet stood behind him, shaking his head, and soon slipped past the trumpeter, sighing as he rolled his eyes. "Remember the whipped cream incident, Troy? You got caught then."

Arkir smirked. "At least he didn't get caught with the chocolate sauce."

Troy grimaced as he closed the door, turning the lights up afterwards. "My friend, we swore never to speak of that again, remember?"

Tanya laughed. "That poor cat . . ."

"Hey, that thing wasn't supposed to be there! The critter had very poor timing."

"You know," Blaine added, "it was quite hilarious to see a chocolate covered cat racing through the cafeteria, even if it wasn't supposed to happen."

Troy brightened considerably. "True, that. Thanks, Piper."

Tanya watched with a grin as Troy, Jet, and Blaine got into an intense discussion over their past pranks. They were such good friends, not holding any stock in the rumors. It had been rocky at first, when Izzy hired her to be the sixth member of the band. Sandra and Troy hadn't wanted her to be there at first, but the cooky restaurant owner put his foot down before things got hostile.

"_I won't have prejudiced people working at my restaurant,"_ he warned the band when Tanya first met them. _"You don't like it, you don't have to come back next week. Pershnizzle?"_ And Jet, of course, had to explain his father's tendency to make up words on occasion.

Two months passed before things got better. It took Tanya herself snapping before Troy was won over, and Arkir had to defend her to Sandra. That gained both the girl's open-mindedness and Tanya's trust of Arkir. Two months after that, they were all good friends, and Tanya and Arkir had started dating. Troy soon took to calling her "princess," even though, he said, she usually didn't act like one.

He rued the day he made that comment.

Tanya was interrupted from her thoughts by a knock on the door, which immediately opened to reveal Sandra. She was slightly flustered, her music sheets clutched tightly. "She's awful!" the blonde announced, her curls in disarray. She tried to fix this after putting the papers down, and Tanya moved over to help her.

"Who's awful?" Troy asked. "Your literature professor?"

"Yes!" Her hair fixed, Sandra smiled her thanks to Tanya, then reverted back to a scowl. "She just assigned us a thick book with nowhere near enough time!"

"Skim-read," Blaine suggested, brushing straight black hair out of her face. "There's no way you're going to absorb it, so don't try. Just get it read."

"Easy for you to say. You don't have to write a report on the thing!"

Tanya snickered. "What's it about?"

The girl snorted in an unladylike manner. "'A classic work showing the life of a common woman as she fights against rampant prejudice and her own misjudgments.' And something or other about some person I don't remember anything about except that it was a man, and the main character thinks he's trying to take advantage of her family."

Blaine grinned. "You know, that sounds similar to our own girl's situation."

Sandra blinked. "Oh, yeah. Talk to him since yesterday?"

Tanya threw her hands up. "You, too? Fine! I'll make sure I say more than, 'pass the salt, please,' at dinner. And I'll actually _eat_ dinner with him."

Troy blinked. "You've been eating dinner alone in your room, princess?"

"To be fair, she did stay at my house Saturday night," Blaine pointed out.

"Hey, I did actually speak to him to ask him if I could," the rather put out victim – target – of their concern grumbled. In answer, Jet grinned.

"She _asked_! Wonder of wonders!"

"Oh, shut up!" the girl groaned.

The others snickered. Blaine threw an arm around her shoulders then, and gave her a pointed look. "And how did Mr. Blue respond to your actually speaking to him?"

Tanya blinked in stupefied shock. "You did not just call him that."

Her boyfriend smirked and shook his head. "I think she just did. So, how _did_ he respond?"

The girl forced her brain to start working again, then shrugged. "Actually, he looked rather relieved. I figure it was because I actually spoke to him after a week of the cold shoulder. Two weeks? Something like that."

Arkir turned serious. "You need to talk to him sometime, Tanya."

"I know!" she moaned. "It's just that he's always looking for a chance to ask about Mom, and I don't trust him."

"So talk about her."

Tanya blinked again. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Talk. About. Your mother. Not yet; I know you're not ready. Just . . . sometimes, Tanya, it makes it worse when you just keep it all bottled up inside."

Tanya nodded reluctantly. "All right. But only because you asked. Now, are we ready to practice or not?"

Her friends all rolled their eyes. To accompany this, Blaine sighed. "If you insist . . ."

Sandra grinned. "Right. We'll pester you about Mr. Blue tomorrow."

Their victim groaned.

**...**

It was with much trepidation that evening that Tanya stepped into the living room where Thrawn sat, intently studying something on a datapad. She stood there for a moment, focusing on not wringing her hands, then sighed heavily.

_Darn it all,_ she grumbled in her mind. _Those guys were right. This is no atmosphere for a home._

Thrawn's glowing red eyes flickered upwards to glance at her upon the sound, then his gaze went back to the datapad. "Do you require something?" he asked, his tone careful and wary.

Tanya grimaced. Such a fine start to a conversation with no projected path. "Not really," she answered, just as careful in her reply. After a moment, she scowled. "Okay, fine. I need things to not be so tense around here. I need to apologize. I still don't completely trust you, but my cold treatment of you these past two weeks has been totally uncalled for."

His red gaze was now focused intently on her. "I will admit that it has been very frustrating. Why the change of heart?"

Tanya looked away, unable to meet his eyes. It felt like he was staring right at her very soul. "My friends helped me realize how unfair I was being toward you. Sure, you were sticking your nose where it doesn't really belong, but it's not like there's much for me to tell about my mom, anyway. I was five when she died. I don't really have very many memories of her."

Thrawn set the datapad aside. "You may know more than you think you know, Ms. Tangier."

"Tanya."

A blue-black eyebrow rose in what seemed to be surprise. "I'm sorry?"

She sighed. "Look, if things are going to get less tense around here, calling me by a formal 'Ms. Tangier' isn't going to help. That's fine anywhere else – in fact, I prefer that no one outside my circle of friends knows you stay at my house. But here . . ."

"I understand." Thrawn offered the barest hint of a smile. "We do not have to talk about your mother yet . . . Tanya. I will not make that mistake again. _You_ choose the time to talk, and when you're ready, come find me."

Tanya nodded, relieved. "I can do that. Look . . . Again, I'm sorry. We Tangiers have short tempers on occasion, me more than my dad sometimes. I shouldn't have given you the cold shoulder."

Thrawn gave her a more true smile. "I forgive you. I am not mad at you, Tanya. If anything, I am relieved that you are actually speaking to me."

Tanya relaxed. "And I'll do you one better. Anything in mind for dinner?"

The Grand Admiral shook his head. "I think I will let you pick."

She nodded and turned to leave. She still wasn't ready to talk about her mother, but the atmosphere was much less tense, now.

_Mission accomplished._

**...**_  
_

By the time both members of the household went to bed that night, tensions had very much eased. Certainly, there were moments where Tanya was aggravated, but Thrawn quickly learned to drop the matter and move onto something else. By evening's end, they had agreed to disagree, and that went a long way toward improving relations.

Tanya was still wary, however. She didn't trust Thrawn, not yet, and she knew it would probably take something significant for that trust to be won anytime soon.

Little did she know just how soon that would be . . .

* * *

**Edited 10-22-11  
**


	10. Chapter 10

Thank you for reviewing, **Imperial warlord**, **serenity8118**, and **lord natahan**! Seeing a review alert always makes me feel happy and brightens my day. ^_^ First off, I apologize for taking so long to update. My summer and this semester have been insanely busy, and my muse has been fickle. Also, I just couldn't decide how to write this chapter! I finally figured out what to do and how I was going to end it, though, thankfully. :-P

**lord natahan**- I am very relieved to hear that Thrawn is in character. Given the unique setting, I wasn't sure how I would do that. At the same time, I feel that I can write him better here, when he would logically act a little differently than on the bridge of a Star Destroyer. I'm not sure if I could keep him true to character in that instance, although I've not tried much. I also am glad to hear that you like what I've done with the setting and, well, everything. I think, from here on out, it's going to become harder to keep the Grand Admiral in proper character, so please don't hesitate to tell me if you feel I'm straying beyond any boundaries. All in all, I'm glad I'm able to provide a very different story for you that co-stars our favorite Imperial. :-)

As a warning to all, I have absolutely no idea when I'm going to next update. And you all, I'm sure, are going to be _so_ mad at me with this cliffhanger . . .

_(_**10-22-11 edit:**_ I finally designed the house for this story, and so I decided to go through all the chapters and edit everything to do with the building. In the process, I edited other things as well: awkward lines, repetition, not enough description, and such. The first chapter especially received this, for I found I still didn't like how I started and ended it. As such, I removed a snippet from the end and added a paragraph at the beginning. For those of you who have already read these chapters, I suggest that you take a look. If this is your first time through, well, you didn't miss anything. :-P Enjoy, all! I'll add this paragraph to the author's notes at the beginning of the next chapter, as well . . .)_

* * *

**-Chapter Ten-**

It was an old scene, one that had haunted the sleeper for years.

_ "Em, run! Take Tanya!"_

Always the same, never deviating . . .

_"Liz, no!"_

_ "Mommy!_

Horrible images she couldn't forget.

_ A jerk. Burnt flesh._

_ "ELIZABETH!"_

And then her own cry, echoing in her mind. A terrified scream that halted just before the threshold of reality . . .

_ "Mommy? MOMMY? _MOMMIIEEE!_"_

Her heart was pounding a mile a minute. Gasping, Tanya came awake, fear still coursing through her veins. It had been so long since she had last had that dream, and she had even been able to put it to the back of her mind before the other day.

_It was probably brought on by that painting,_ she decided, even as she donned her robe to abate her shivering. She curled up, hugging her knees to her chest. _But that was it. Just a nightmare. I saw a picture of him before – she showed me one once – and I must have inserted it into my nightmare. And it was _just that_. A nightmare._

Somehow, she managed to convince herself, the realness of the dream making it seem as if it had really happened. Then, after a moment, she slipped out of bed to fetch herself a drink of water. The nightmare had left her throat parched, her mouth dry, and she wondered if she had in fact stayed silent in her terror.

Halfway across the room, though, she paused. There was an irregular shadow on the carpet . . .

The shadow moved.

Tanya froze, the adrenaline pumping anew. No tree, no wild animal made that sort of shadow, and her room was too far above the grass for that to happen. She turned to look, her breath caught in her throat, and let loose a shriek as the glass shattered. It hit the carpeted floor with a tinkling sound as the shards struck each other, and she brought her arms up to shield her face. A second later, she peered through them at the figure framed by moonlight. He was tall and muscular, decked out in black, and the dull, cold metal of a blade glowed threateningly from where it rested, clenched in a black-gloved fist. Dark eyes, inscrutable in the dim light, gleamed as they fixated solely on her. A small movement by the man, and Tanya bolted.

Her door swished obediently open as she ran to it, and she paused only to slap an alarm switch on her way out. By then, the intruder had lunged after her, booted feet pounding against the stone tile of the hallway as he pursued. Tanya shrieked again at a close call, the sound lost in the blaring siren, and then she was running once more.

**...**

Red eyes opened to take in the blackness, their owner frowning. An unsettling feeling had nested deep in Thrawn just then, and he couldn't help but feel that something was not right. But what could it be? He and his hostess had reconciled with each other, at least to a degree, but that had led to a feeling of rightness, not . . . this, whatever it was.

With a sigh, Thrawn resigned himself to not falling back asleep and stood, going to where a set of more leisurely clothes were folded. Black slacks were donned in replacement of pajama bottoms, followed by a collared white shirt, and he found himself missing his dress whites. He had a job to do, however, and not his normal one. Certainly, this one came with its perks – being able to teach on art – but he could not allow that to overshadow his true purpose on Ceurel. This was, after all, not a vacation.

Thrawn held back a sigh as he brought up the lights and studied his reflection. The style of the outfit didn't suit him. That, or he was just used to seeing himself in a military uniform. There were few days in his life, once he graduated from the academy of Csilla, in which he wore civilian garb, and now he had been wearing it for several weeks. Perhaps a different shirt would sooth his unsettled nerves?

Unsettled . . .? He frowned at the concept, knowing something had to be wrong outside of his wardrobe. He considered the idea as he swapped for a black shirt with long sleeves and a collar reminiscent of the Imperial Navy uniforms. Call him fickle, but he just wasn't in the mood for the usual dress shirt and tie today. Besides, something told him he would want something a little more casual than what he had already . . .

That feeling was still there, and he moved over to his desk to continue some research he had started the night before. He needed to think, but he also needed somewhere to start.

The first thing that popped up on the computer terminal's screen was a familiar image, one he had discussed with his class just a day ago. When he saw it, his mind immediately began evaluating what he knew.

Fact: Samuel Claudor was a thief and a murderer.

Fact: He had been disowned from his family.

Fact: Records of him had disappeared more thoroughly than should be technically possible for the family, and more quickly.

Fact: Elizabeth Claudor Tangier was dead under questionable circumstances.

Fact: Tanya had nightmares that contained her uncle that started around the time of her mother's death.

Fact: Thrawn had been sent here to prevent a criminal organization, yet to be revealed, from killing someone in the capital city of Ceurel.

Fact: Gerald Tangier knew something, and he really, really did not like leaving his daughter alone.

Fact: Gerald had not been there when his wife died, and now he was once again not present.

Fact: The feeling in his gut was worse now than before.

Thrawn studied the trial painting with a furrowed brow, eyeing carefully the expressions on the subjects' faces. Elizabeth herself was painted with a stiff form, wariness and fear in her gaze as she stared at her brother. Another woman, Emila Claudor, clutched at the older sister's arm. But this wasn't fear of his being convicted . . . Thrawn knew that expression; it was fear of the man the look was aimed at, fear that he would be let free. As for Samuel, there was anger and smugness in his eyes, a knowing look that said, "You can't hold me." And there, there was something he had missed . . .

It was mostly hidden, a tattoo concealed by a sleeve cuff that was almost unnoticeable. Only the edge could be seen, but Thrawn hissed in recognition. Oh, it would have had to be _them_, wouldn't it? Now was he acting alone, or did that organization have some plan or problem that involved the Claudor and Tangier families? Because he could connect the dots as well as any other – better, even – and the dots that were connecting were painting a big red target on his charge.

Thrawn cursed, nearly upsetting his chair as he stood in a hurry. The silence had been shattered by a blaring alarm, the one that would only go off if manually activated. And aside from him and the cleaning droids, there was only one other who should be occupying this building.

He was sprinting for the wardrobe before the thought even finished formulating, instincts running high and operating in conjunction with his training. His blaster was in the top drawer, along with its spare cells, and he pulled all of them out. The power cells were shoved into a pocket as he moved for the door, the blaster held ready in his hands.

He was cautious not to immediately rush into the hall. Instead, as the door slid open, he peered around the corners to check that it was clear. Seeing only an empty hallway, he started out to the right at a fast clip that was not as reckless as a run. Tanya was in trouble, yes, but it would not do to get himself killed from lack of focus. He had to be alive to keep her alive.

**...**

It felt like Jet was playing a drum solo in her chest as she ran, as if _Twilight Storm_ had come to life inside of her. Bolts of adrenaline shot through her, giving her limbs the energy and the speed she needed to stay ahead of the black-garbed intruder. But she knew this could not last, and that she needed somewhere to hide until Thrawn found her. Otherwise, the loop of the hallway would wear her down.

Images of tunnels superimposed themselves on her vision, and she shook them away. Her nightmare was too close, still dogging the edges of her mind. The recency of it and the eerie similarity to her present situation kept it fresh, her terror doubled because of it. But, oh, that the tunnels – or at least some secret room – existed, so that she could give her would-be killer the slip. Or- hang on, this could work. Two doors stood directly opposite each other: to the right a closet, big enough for her to hide behind anything in it, and to the left the entrance to the corridor that led to the kitchen and the garage. She would have to get the timing just right, but-

Cutting her own thought off, Tanya slapped her hand against the control to the door that led to the adjoining hallway, pushing forcefully off and propelling herself to the closet. It opened quickly for her, then closed just as rapidly. Just in time, too, for the sound of footsteps echoed quietly as they paused at the closing hall door and changed course, heading directly away. With a deep sigh of relief, Tanya bonelessly slid down behind a couple boxes that contained cleaning supplies, furiously trying to get her body back under control. Her pulse was racing like the old podracers she'd heard about, and her breathing was ragged. A part of her mind told her that she should get moving, that she should head back the way she had come in an attempt to throw the intruder off of her trail even more. In her exhaustion, she didn't pay the sensible idea much mind as she struggled to calm her breathing. A chill fell over her, and her mind became strangely blank as one string of thought sounded over and over. _Run, run, get away, hide, don't let him find you. He's going to kill you!_

And then the door open, and Tanya spun her head about to look in horror. Glazed eyes stared unfocused at a figure dressed in black, silhouetted by the bright light of the hallway. That registered in her mind, and she jerked back to press against the corner. "No . . ." she gasped in panic. "Don't kill me, no!"

* * *

**Edited 10-22-11  
**


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